Trust
by mariacomet
Summary: Emma and Regina, their relationship still new, explore their feelings for one another making use of a blindfold. Swanqueen.


**Trust**

 **by M. Comet**

* * *

"Do you trust me?" she asks, the playful light in her dark eyes entrancing me. Her voice is soft as cat's paws, a quiet intrusion that still owns the room. A black bang falls over her face and she tucks it back into place efficiently, still waiting for my answer.

"Of course, I do," I say automatically, knowing that wherever this is going, there is only one right answer.

She's just come out of her home office and is standing at the edge of the dining room. Henry is with my parents. She promised me she would only be a few minutes, not wanting work to intrude on "us-time." She kept her word.

"No, Emma—" She dangles a scrap of leather from her fingers. Her smile bares her teeth.

It takes me a moment to understand the intricacy of her question–she is holding a blindfold.

"Do you trust me?"

I sit at the kitchen table, a pen in my hand frozen mid-word. I was writing the weekly report she requires, even though most of the interesting things that happen in town I could never put into an official report. She likes processes and procedures. I thrive on improvisation and independence.

We shouldn't work.

We do.

She comes toward me, her hips swaying in a way that invites attention. She knows it.

My breathing is already starting to quicken, short puffs of air that match the drumbeat between my thighs. I abandon my chair; right now, sitting makes me feel vulnerable. She is not attacking me, not touching me, not even toe-to-toe with me, yet I feel overpowered. "I trust you," I whisper, the words sounding like a question, like there is a "but" coming.

She reaches up to place the mask over my eyes, denying me the sight of her. "Are you sure," she asks, her low, hungry voice close to my ear. She doesn't tie it into place. Not yet. "Neither of us is good at giving up control."

"You never—we haven't talked about a lot of things."

Her nails, then her fingertips skim my jaw. I curl my hands so I don't haul her against me.

"I wasn't sure how long we would..." Her voice is tender, almost shy. I am not sure which side of her excites me more: the queen or the woman who, after a lifetime of protecting herself, strips her defenses for me.

And only for me.

"It's only been a few months since we returned from Neverland," she says, "since this began." She nuzzles the hair near my neck. "I've been thinking about this for a while. Wondering if you would like it."

The light rapping she has kindled at the juncture of my thighs becomes a hard pulsing. I close my eyes.

All of my awareness is focused on wanting her, like someone dying from poison, summoning all their will to crawl toward the antidote across the room.

"You're not talking to me." She sounds amused. "Talk to me, baby."

She often has to remind me to talk when she begins these effortless seductions. My head short-circuits, and all I can feel is wanting her mouth or her touch or to taste or to take.

"I've told you...I love you." The word is new between us. I've used it six times and she hasn't at all. It doesn't matter. I stopped being able to hold it in weeks ago. "I want to explore whatever you want to."

Sometimes Regina distrusts a heart outstretched to her as if it must be a trick. I would climb mountains just to kiss her. I would face prison again. I would draw my sword and battle a Kraken. I would do anything to make her happy, even deny myself that kiss I so crave, if that's what she wanted. I wish she believed it.

"That's compliance, not enthusiasm. We can forget this and just go upstairs. Is that what you want?"

"I want this. Please."

Fingers run through the hair at the nape of my neck as if petting me. She ties the leather strands into place. Her silk shirt grazes my arm as she moves.

"Relax," she says and I can smell her, the perfume on the skin I have tasted. There's a tingling against my mouth, the whisper of a kiss. "Relax," she tells me again.

I try. She holds the leash to my body.

She guides my arms up and slips the shirt from me, ignoring the buttons, focused on getting me how she wants me. I am too hot to process the rush[m4e1] of air against my bare skin. She bites my neck, just where the pulse is pounding. Her hot mouth pulls there, sucking and nipping. She does it again.

And God...again.

She unwraps the bra from my breasts and her fingers stroke my pebble-hard nipples. "Back," she says, pressing on my shoulders and guiding me until my back is flat against the tabletop. I go where she directs me, barely processing that we're in the dining room.

Her warmth does not follow me. "Regina," I call out.

"Shh." A fingertip presses to my lips, and then once again, I can't feel her.

I hear her in the kitchen. She's nearby, but not with me. I don't know how long it is, whether it's seconds or minutes. It feels like an eternity. When I hear her coming back, I am awash with relief.

Something hard and cold skims my nipple, and since my senses have been waiting so intently for something, anything signifying her return, it feels like electricity. Her mouth is quick to feed on me, her tongue licking until I can't feel the cold anymore. I shiver from the heat.

The other nipple has a longer press of ice–I think it's ice—circling and circling until my back arches and I am close to crying out. Her mouth offers me respite and more torture. I forget that I'm not bound, that my hands are free. I am paralyzed.

A path of feverish kisses moves up until she claims me over and over in the way her mouth takes mine.

"You're not talking to me again. Do you like this, Emma?"

"Fuck, yes."

A touch slides down my stomach. "Tell me you love me."

She surprises me by asking. She has purposefully not put any names to this thing between us. I can't help it, I give her what she wants. "I love you."

Her fingers find the button of my slacks and the zipper. Her kiss this time isn't possessive, it's a gift that becomes another and another. I lift my head up to meet her and receive her offering.

She doesn't remove my panties. Not yet.

She is gone again. I hear rustling near the front door. She makes me wait. My world is darkness and her. Right now, without her, there is nothing. I clench my hands into fists.

The touch of smooth, slippery fabric makes my abdomen jump. She glides it down and I swallow hard. What she is touching me with is so light it tickles. She teases it over the center of my panties.

"I love making you like this," she tells me. "So wet."

She draws small circles just over my aching clit. It feels so good and yet it's not enough. I need to be naked for her and I need more pressure. I need actual contact.

"You're doing so good, Emma." I clench my teeth as her pleased tone makes my nerve endings spark. She draws down the last piece of clothing I am wearing down inch by inch.

"If I had only known you would like this so much. I've barely touched you and your clit is throbbing so hard. I think...if I cover you with my mouth you'll cum, won't you? If I suck on that needy clit, I don't think you'll last long at all."

My eyes see only black, but I feel colors. I feel red, blues, purples, oranges bursting from my skin.

The soft sandpaper of her tongue drags over my inner thigh. "Do you want that? Do you want to cum for me?"

I want it more than I want my next breath, yet more than that, I want her to be happy. I wish she understood. "Is that—is that what you want?"

She doesn't answer me in words. Her fingers push into me and she begins taking me , unrushed and deep. Without sight, all I have is the reality of her touch. She shows me new worlds and new realities in the darkness.

"Fuck," I moan.

"That's what I want. I want you like that...I want you to talk to me."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Tell me what you feel."

"Hot. I need…" She keeps thrusting, pace unaltering. My neck bows backward and my head smacks the table. I don't even register it. "Harder."

She answers me. She does as I ask. "Harder," I cry out repeatedly, almost a chant. She doesn't deny me. "Fuck me."

"Mmm," she purrs. "That's my girl. You love when I fuck you, don't you?"

I twist my body this way and that as if trying to wring more pleasure from every pound of her fingers.

"Regina," I cry out and feel my world begin to fray, about to come apart.

"Not yet, Emma," she says and stops.

I moan and mutter a dozen curses under my breath.

She starts all over again, tuning me. "Tell me you love me," she demands.

"I love you," I gasp out and my eyes brim with tears. I shudder as she keeps conducting my body, carefully building the cadence of the notes inside me. I part my lips, ready to scream whatever song she wants me to, feeling the sharpness of the crescendo.

It all stops. She leaves me again.

Fuck, she can't keep doing that. She can't keep fucking leaving me. I want to tear off the blindfold and end this. I could. All I have to do is reach up and this would be over. As I remind myself of that, the whirlwind inside me that has been swirling faster and faster, giving form to a thousand gathered specks of agitation, slows. I have a choice. I did at the beginning, and I do now.

I trust her.

She's here again, her fingertips [m4e2] paint heat down my thighs. "Are you okay?" she asks me.

"I don't like when you disappear," I tell her, voice hoarse and raw with honesty.

She leaves a kiss on the skin she has just touched. "We can stop."

"No—no, I just needed a minute."

"Emma, I'm not going anywhere. Not now and not...I'm here," she promises and there's another brush of her mouth near where I need her the most. She takes my hand. That's all there is for a few moments, just nips and nuzzles and her hand in mine.

She slides over me, her weight pressing against my entire body. "I keep telling you to talk," she says as her fingers find their home inside me. "But I haven't told you." She comes home again, driving deep. "Since the moment you kissed me that one night after we tucked Henry in, I've been holding back."

She mimics the moment she speaks of, our mouths relive that tipping point again and again. She doesn't stop thrusting. I tear from the kiss, wild. My teeth drag over skin, then I bite down. It's rough. I can't help myself. She rewards me by moving harder. Faster. I clench around her fingers, wanting them to never leave me again.

"Emma, I can't be without you. I need you. I want you." Every word throbs where she is touching. Her free arm comes around me, cradling my head, digging her fingers into my hair. She breathes—ragged—into my ear. My hands finally move, up the contours of her back, clutching her to me. I am completing her movements with the pumping of my hips. I see white in the distance, coming closer.

"That's it," she tells me, "that's it, baby. I want to tell you…" The strain of her efforts makes her voice break. "I want to tell you something, and then I want you to cum for me. Hard. Will you do that for me?"

I don't know if I mouth the word "yes" or actually say it. My entire body is listening.

"I'm in love with you too, Emma, totally and completely." I am not sure if I hear the words or just feel the vibrations of them. They dive into my body, down my spine, to where her fingers are beating inside me.

They make me come apart. "Cumming for you," I groan, remembering that she likes it when I talk.

She takes me through it and holds me closer. She says those three words again as my body tries to recover, but I'll never really recover from her. She has claimed me in inches, bit by bit, branding every part of me.

Sometime later, I finally notice the hard wood of the table against my back. She stirs as I do and frees me of the mask. "My back is killing me," I tell her, eyes dancing. The lines at the corners of her mouth lift and I lean up to kiss her.

"Admittedly, I did plan on doing this in the bedroom. I...guess I couldn't wait." Sometimes she's shy when she admits things to me. Other people would be surprised if they knew that. "Are you okay?"

I am reborn. I am a superhero. I am infinity. I can't tell her that in a way that sounds logical. "I'm good."

She uses my hands to tug me to my feet. She demurely avoids my eyes. "I meant what I said. It wasn't just passion."

"Then show me, and let me show you," I whisper, and I take the lead to guide her upstairs.


End file.
